


two can keep a secret (if one of them is dead)

by ADreamingSongbird



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Character Death, Non-Graphic Violence, Urban Fantasy, superspy falls in love with his empath best friend! what happens next will shock you!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 01:09:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20857730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADreamingSongbird/pseuds/ADreamingSongbird
Summary: Yuuri looks up at him over his shoulder, his wine-red lips slightly parted, and Viktor almost drowns in the honey-gold flecks in his dark eyes. “I… But I can’t seduce anyone.”Viktor outright laughs, zipping the back of his dress up. “Oh, Yuuri. I can tell you it’s a fact that that’s false.”Yuuri’s brows knit together. “What do you mean?”





	two can keep a secret (if one of them is dead)

**Author's Note:**

> written for the yuri on ice spy zine! thank you for having me <3
> 
> and!! there's accompanying art for this fic by [jess](https://agenderemryspaperart.tumblr.com/) !!!

Viktor shows up for his briefing ten minutes and forty-two seconds late, a venti ultra caramel frappuccino in his hand as he raps on Yakov’s office door.

It swings open immediately, revealing his irate boss. “Ah, yes! Finally, His Majesty decides to grace me with his presence. What time did I ask you to be here? What time, Vitya?”

“Ten minutes ago,” he answers easily, settling into the chair opposite Yakov’s desk and crossing one leg over the other. There’s a single folder atop the glass surface, and he eyes it with suspicion—it contains the specifics of his new mission, but even without reading a word, he knows what he’s being sent to do.

Gosha—_Georgi, _now—defected last week. He’s been lying low, but he can only elude the agency that taught him everything he knows for so long. Viktor takes a long, slow sip of his frappuccino and breathes out, careful to keep every last facet of his appearance even and calm. He’s not going to pretend it doesn’t hurt, that Gosha left after everything they’d been through together, that Gosha’s not only leaving but _betraying _them, that Gosha wants to give sensitive information to people who would kill them all, but…

Here is his new assignment: to put a bullet into someone he called a close friend.

“_Eleven _minutes ago,” Yakov grouches, closing the door with a loud _thud!_ and stomping back to his desk chair. “Honestly, I don’t know why I ever call you in for briefings anymore. I should just leave the file on your desk and walk away. Who taught you punctuality?”

“You did!” Viktor says, all easy smiles and breezy charm to cover up the discomfort. “So let me guess. You’re sending me after Georgi?”

“Yes.” Yakov levels a glare at him. “He’ll be at the Stellarium this weekend, meeting a contact from the EBS. Your task is to get to him before he completes the handoff.”

“Ah, of course. Just one problem, I think—” and Viktor taps his lips, miming deep thought. “He’s going to recognize me, Yakov.”

“Of course he is! Do you think I’m some kind of idiot?” Yakov gives him a scathing look. “I already put in a request with the Magic Division, and they’ve agreed to lend us an empath for the mission. You’re already well-acquainted with Agent Katsuki, and if you hadn’t shown up _late, _you could’ve been briefed at the same time and saved me some time, but what the hell, you need your sugary bullshit, right?”

“Right!” Viktor interjects cheerfully. “So I get to work with Yuuri?”

Yakov’s blustering tirade stops in its tracks, changing to a dry, tired sigh. “Yes. Don’t blow your mission just because you… gah, whatever. You know what I mean. He’s waiting for you, outside. Take the file and go.”

He gets to work with his best friend!

…In order to kill his former other friend.

Viktor sighs, nods, and takes the file, tucking it under his arm and turning to leave. “Anything else before I go?”

Yakov wavers, uncharacteristic enough that Viktor is almost worried, and runs a hand through what’s left of his hair. “Vitya… I’m putting you on this mission because you’re by far the _best _field agent we’ve got.”

Viktor swallows, pastes on a smile, and nods. “I know.”

“But… if it’s too much to ask of you,” Yakov continues, very awkwardly, as if it’s painful for him to acknowledge Viktor’s emotions, or maybe as if he’s just swallowed a toad but is trying to pretend otherwise, “I can send Plisetsky instead.”

Viktor raises an eyebrow. Yura… would not be able to handle this mission, and both of them know it. “I’ll be fine, but thank you for the concern.”

The office door closes behind him with a _click._ Viktor takes a deep breath, steadies himself (he’s the best at what he does, and it doesn’t matter if it upsets him or not), and walks away.

When he pokes his head into the break room, the TV is on, and someone is furiously playing MarioKart; delighted, he steals into the room, sneaks up behind the couch, and raises his hands to jab them into Yuuri’s sides—

“Vitya, if you make me lose this race, I’m ending our Snapchat streak,” Yuuri threatens, voice low, and Vikor freezes, putting his hands up in surrender. Damn that magic, ruining his attempts to sneak up on Yuuri! He probably felt him the second he entered the room.

Sure enough, as soon as Yuuri wins his race, he puts the controller down and turns to look at Viktor with a smile.

“You’re like a puppy,” he says. “You walk into the room and I can _feel _the exclamation points over your head. It’s cute.”

“I need to work on being less happy to see you, then,” Viktor muses, and Yuuri laughs and swats his arm. He grins, but it fades quickly, because… well, the folder he put on the floor is sitting there, staring innocuously at him, and it contains all the details he needs to kill Georgi.

He sighs.

Yuuri, to his credit, isn’t at all surprised when Viktor slumps sideways and lies down across his lap, closing his eyes. He just threads his fingers through his hair and murmurs, “We’ll deal with this, Vitya. We’ll figure it out. It’ll be okay.”

Viktor presses his nose into Yuuri’s soft T-shirt and breathes deeply, in and out. It’s less even than in Yakov’s office. “Yeah,” he agrees. “I know.”

* * *

“I am not at all the right person for this mission,” Yuuri mutters, fumbling with the clasp of the string of pearls wrapped delicately around his neck. Behind him, Viktor swallows hard, his eyes tracing the curve of pale skin that disappears behind the low back of his dress, still enticingly unzipped, and licks his lips.

Yuuri is an empath. He can’t—he has to control his thoughts, or he’ll not only compromise the mission, but also ruin their friendship, and _that’s _a thought he can’t stomach.

“I’m supposed to be the honeypot?” Yuuri, mumbling to himself in the mirror, scoffs. “_Me?”_

“You’re the most accomplished empath the division has to offer,” Viktor reminds him, stepping closer, resting his hands on Yuuri’s hips and resisting the urge to lean down to nip at his neck, to press him close and inhale his perfume and kiss him kiss him kiss him. He can see himself in the mirror over Yuuri’s shoulder, and god, he wants—he doesn’t want to go on this mission, he just wants _Yuuri, _wants Yuuri and no more death, and oh, god, he feels so _weak._ “And I can’t do this alone. They’d shoot me on sight.”

Yuuri looks up at him over his shoulder, his wine-red lips slightly parted, and Viktor almost drowns in the honey-gold flecks in his dark eyes. “I… But _I_ can’t seduce anyone.”

Viktor outright laughs, finally zipping the back of the dress up. “Oh, Yuuri. I can tell you it’s a _fact _that that’s false.”

Yuuri’s brows knit together. “What do you mean?”

He can’t kiss him, can’t keep thinking about kissing him, can’t—but he can’t resist the desire to at least smooth his thumb over the top of the clasp, over the bumps of Yuuri’s spine just above the dress, and Yuuri’s breath hitches. Viktor bites the inside his lip so hard that he might draw blood. He has to leave this hotel room, has to go to a party, has to kill Georgi, but he wants to go back to the bed and take Yuuri and stay with him, just like this, forever.

“We should get going,” he finally says, withdrawing, and Yuuri frowns but doesn’t object.

The Stellarium is a short drive away—like all the other high profile guests, they arrive in a limousine (Yakov groused about its price, but Viktor was right that they needed it). Viktor makes sure his mask of deception is firmly in place, no cracks showing, and smoothly steps out, offering his arm to Yuuri. Yuuri looks up at him with an expression akin to that of a deer in the headlights, just for half an instant, and then schools it into something cool, collected, and confident.

Duty and dread settle into a hard, heavy ball in the pit of Viktor’s stomach. Amid all the lights and glamour, he leads Yuuri on his arm up to the top floor, where the ballroom glitters. Georgi is here, somewhere, planning to hand the information he stole over to an EBS agent. Georgi is here, somewhere, unaware that this is his last night to live.

Viktor catches his reflection in the window and adjusts his false, aloof smile ever so slightly. He can’t look conflicted.

“Are you ready?” he murmurs, just barely audible, and Yuuri’s hand on his arm tightens to a painfully tight iron grip.

Yuuri nods.

“Then go.” Viktor lowers his arm, and Yuuri’s hand slips away. Something glints, catching his eye, and _oh,_ Viktor reaches for him again. “Oh—wait.”

Yuuri’s wearing the EBS emblem as a small, unobtrusive brooch in the shape of a bee. It glimmers faintly in the dimness, and Viktor reaches for him, straightening it on his chest, before he steps back.

“Thanks,” Yuuri whispers, and with one final glance that says a thousand things and yet none, he slips away into the crowd, ready to mingle and enchant them all.

While he’s searching out Georgi, posing as the agent here to collect him, Viktor scouts the ballroom, noting all the exits and potential hazards. There’s a door to the balcony that seemed accessible on the floorplan, but is currently blocked off by a large, abstract statue, and he wrinkles his nose in distaste. It’s not particularly pretty, but he supposes there’s no accounting for the eclectic tastes of the types to throw a ball like this.

He takes a glass of punch from the table, careful to stir it with a fingertip to make sure his nail polish doesn’t detect anything in it before he takes a sip, and pretends to be taking a phone call on the balcony so that his solitude isn’t questioned. Yakov informs him over his earpiece that Georgi’s real contact has arrived.

Well, shit. They don’t have a lot of time. Damn the EBS and their punctuality. The party’s just started.

He turns on his heel, puts his phone back in his pocket, and walks back inside, looking for Yuuri. With any luck, he’s already found Georgi, pulled him off to the side to talk, and loosened his tongue a bit. Maybe this mission can just be something quick—they’ll pop in and out, and then they’ll leave.

But of course, that’s wishful thinking. Viktor sighs, taps a finger to his lips, and surveys the ballroom. Thinks _Find me,_ and waits.

Yuuri appears out of the crowd as if summoned, not even a minute later, and takes the punch from his hand to down most of the glass. Viktor blinks at him, aghast.

“That was _my _punch,” he starts to complain, but Yuuri ignores him.

“Don’t turn your head,” he mutters. “Georgi is behind me, to my left. He’s talking to someone—not the EBS pickup agent. It’s—oh, what’s her name, the one that shot your knee last year?”

“Sybil Canute?” Viktor narrows his eyes. “I didn’t know she was going to be here.”

“She just saw you.” Yuuri frowns, alarm creeping onto his face. “Oh, shit. She’s getting suspicious—she hasn’t recognized you yet, but—”

Before Viktor can respond, Yuuri surges forward and kisses him _hard, _hard enough that he stumbles back against the wall and gasps as he kisses back. He can taste both the vanilla lipstick and the champagne on Yuuri’s lips, and _fuck _his hand curving around Yuuri’s waist is brushing bare skin and he can feel the heat of it, and Yuuri is kissing him again, and again, and _what is happening_—

Just when his knees threaten to buckle, Yuuri pulls back, glancing carelessly over his shoulder. “Sorry,” he says, and Viktor’s world tilts. “That was just—I needed to make her look away, so.”

“Oh.” Viktor blinks a few times, trying to catch his breath. He’s… disappointed, but exhilarated, too, and…

He shoves those emotions aside. Now isn’t the time.

Yuuri licks his lips, though, and Viktor can’t help but stare for half a second too long. “Okay. Um. Anyway,” he says, and turns back to the dance floor, fishing his lipstick out of Viktor’s pocket and reapplying it. “I’m gonna, um. I’m gonna go talk to Georgi.”

“Right,” Viktor says, a little dazed.

In his earpiece, Yakov groans.

* * *

As it turns out, Yuuri does a _very _good job of distracting Georgi and luring him to a bedroom, and Viktor is _not _jealous.

Yakov lets him know which bedroom it is, precisely, and Viktor waits until he’s alone to hop the balcony railing and climb along the side of the building. The bedroom suite where Yuuri and Georgi are is just around the corner, and while it’s not the most convenient thing he’s ever done, wearing dress shoes while scaling a wall, it’s not that hard to get above it and drop down onto its balcony to wait, a silent shadow in the night.

He narrows his eyes, unholstering his pistol, and leans in just enough to peer inside the room. The balcony door is just slightly propped open (“Make sure the air conditioning in room 2126 is off,” Viktor had told Phichit. “It needs to be stuffy when they get there.”), and he can hear everything from inside. It’s dimly lit, but he can see Georgi sitting on the edge of the bed, Yuuri straddling him with his skirt hiked up to his hips, arms looped around his neck. Georgi’s hands are on Yuuri’s sides, his mouth at Yuuri’s throat, and Viktor is—

Viktor is a professional, and he is not jealous.

He makes eye contact with Yuuri, very briefly, and Yuuri’s eyes widen for just an instant before he closes them quickly, arching his back and gasping very theatrically as Georgi nips at the tender little spot where his neck joins his shoulder.

“Wait,” Georgi says, and he’s panting. Viktor slips back into the shadows, heart pounding with a thousand and one different emotions that scream and tear through his chest and threaten to burst out into the moonlit city sky, and holds his pistol close, waiting for his moment. “Wait—shouldn’t we go somewhere safer first? What if they knew I’d be here?”

“Why, Gosha,” Yuuri purrs, sounding sharp and seductive and hardly at all like himself, “are you doubting our ability to make sure things are taken care of?”

Georgi inhales sharply. “N-no.”

“If you don’t want to fuck me, you can just say so,” Yuuri adds, and now there’s a pout in his voice.

Viktor closes his eyes. There are too many emotions in him, swirling and pounding and howling, and he can’t—it’s not—they—he has to be _perfect._ So he takes a deep breath and reaches for that part of himself that lets him shut down, lets him stop feeling anything, lets him become Yakov’s favorite tool, and reopens his eyes, feeling nothing.

He’s here for a mission. It doesn’t matter that the man he loves is pretending he’s about to sit on his former friend’s dick less than ten feet away from him. It doesn’t matter that his friend betrayed them and would’ve let them all be killed. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, _it doesn’t matter._

“I—if you’re sure we’re safe,” Georgi breathes, and there’s a silence punctuated only by some soft, wet sounds. Viktor is glad he can pull on this shield of numbness, because some part of him vaguely registers that if he was anything but cold and calm right now, he might feel sick.

“Of course,” Yuuri murmurs, and the bed shifts. Viktor leans forward just a touch, looking through the glass again; Yuuri is still too close to Georgi for him to risk taking the shot yet. His cue is when Yuuri goes to his bag to supposedly grab lube and a condom; that’s when he takes his move. “Don’t you trust me, Gosha? Mmm…”

“Of course,” Georgi answers, breathless, and slips his hand under Yuuri’s skirt.

Then he freezes.

“Wait. You—have we met? I swear I feel like I’ve seen you before…”

Shit. His guard is going up. How has he ever seen Yuuri? How could he possibly have met—Viktor has never introduced them, and Magic and Special Operations generally don’t overlap, except in very special cases like this mission. How could he know?

Yuuri’s eyes widen for just an instant, and then he laughs. “I’ve never met you before in my life, Gosha. Don’t be silly.”

But Georgi isn’t a complete idiot even if he is a heartless one, ditching all of them for a lost love who doesn’t even give a fuck about him, and he pulls back. “No, this doesn’t seem right. Hold on.”

And Yuuri, sweet, nervous Yuuri, makes his fatal error: his eyes flick to Viktor at the balcony window, looking for some kind of reassurance.

Georgi whips around, following his gaze, and though he can’t possibly have recognized Viktor, the fact that there’s _someone _standing there is enough, and _fuck!_

“I knew it! There was a photo of you on Vitya’s wall—you’re not EBS!” he hisses, and then he’s grabbing something from his pocket and Yuuri is scrambling back but not before Georgi’s pocketknife is in his hand, and then—

Viktor throws the door open so hard it hits the wall, and Georgi whirls, knocking Yuuri aside. There’s a flash of recognition in his eyes. “Vitya! Fuck, they sent _you?”_

“You don’t have the right to call me that name anymore, Georgi,” Viktor says coldly (it’s a good thing that he can’t feel anything, because god, if he could feel, this would hurt) and raises his pistol.

Georgi grabs Yuuri’s wrist, suddenly, and jerks him in front of him, knife at his throat. Yuuri’s eyes go very wide. “Drop the gun, or I slit his throat.”

Viktor cocks his head to the side. “You _know _my track record with Yakov is a hundred percent success, on every mission I’ve been on. What makes you think I’m ready to compromise that now?”

Georgi’s hand wavers, then steadies, pressing the blade closer to Yuuri, until Viktor sees a small red drop run down his slender neck, past the pearls and over his chest, and into the fabric of his dress. “You’re bluffing. You had only two photos on your wall, and one of them was of a _dog._ You think you’re gonna convince me you’d just let me kill him?”

Viktor shrugs, pistol still raised, and aims very, very carefully. Yuuri is a little smaller than Georgi, and he’s not holding him perfectly in front of him, either. There’s room for a bullet, even if there’s no room for error. “Well, no, but I’ve always had the reputation of being a good shot.”

Georgi’s eyes widen, but just as Viktor pulls the trigger, Yuuri wrenches himself to the side. Georgi’s arm flails to try and pull him back, and the knife plunges into Yuuri’s thigh even as Viktor’s bullet pierces through Georgi’s skull.

Both of them collapse to the ground, red red blood soaking into the plush carpet, and Viktor kicks the shattered glass door out of his way and leaps through to Yuuri’s side. He can’t feel. He still can’t feel. The mission is the most important thing. “Did you get the flash drive?” he asks tersely.

“It’s in my handbag,” Yuuri manages. There are tears of pain welling up in his beautiful, dark eyes, and Viktor thinks that if he was less numb he’d want to kiss them away, but he’s busy being a perfect agent and this mission has already been fucked up enough. “Vitya, Vitya, oh my god, V-Vitya—”

“Don’t pull that out,” Viktor warns, grabbing the handbag from the nightstand where Yuuri left it before he returns to Yuuri’s side and shrugs out of his suit jacket, wrapping it carefully around the wound and the pocketknife. “You’ll need to hold this in place. Put pressure on it.”

“Vitya,” Yuuri whimpers, but Viktor has to make sure this mission doesn’t get compromised. They _have _to get out of here with that thumb drive; barring that, it has to be destroyed. It can’t fall into the wrong hands.

He digs through the bag until he finds it, tucks it into his own pocket, and slings the bag over his shoulder before addressing the microphone hidden in his earring. “Alright. Yakov, Yuuri’s hurt. Not too badly, but he’s bleeding, so we can’t go back through the party without drawing unwanted eyes. We have the drive and Ge—the target is dead. Can you tell me where the service elevator is?”

Yakov’s voice crackles through, just like always. “Go out the door, turn left, and go down the hallway until you get to the corner. It’s there. I’ll make sure we’ve got Sara standing by on your extraction team.”

“Good.” Viktor turns back around, relieved that they can still get out, that the mission hasn’t been compromised after all, and finally allows himself to feel again, just a little bit.

Yuuri looks up at him, tears streaked with mascara rolling down his cheeks. “Vitya?”

He sounds so hesitant and afraid and tiny, and Viktor’s frozen heart cracks, breaks, _shatters_. Yuuri isn’t like him. Yuuri isn’t used to cold, heartless fieldwork. Yuuri is an empath, and Yuuri must have felt everything Georgi felt before he died. Before Viktor killed him.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, dropping to one knee and cupping his face, kissing his forehead. “Oh, Yuuri. It’s okay. You’re safe. I’m here now. I’ll get you out of here. It’s okay. We can make it home.”

Yuuri winces, biting back a cry, when Viktor scoops him up, but he just clutches at him and stays silent as Viktor hurries them both to safety.

* * *

The stab wound isn’t very deep, and the blade was clean. Sara, the resident medic on their team, patches Yuuri up and declares him good to go home, so long as he’s careful and rests a bit, while Viktor debriefs with Yakov, and then they’re both free for the night. It’s so late it’s almost early—four in the morning paints the city in lonely colors—and Yuuri tugs at Viktor’s sleeve.

“Can I—can I crash at your place?” he asks, voice soft and eyes downcast. He hasn’t said much at all since they got back to base, utterly drained after all his spellweaving tonight. Viktor worries for him.

“Sure,” Viktor says, taking his hand and squeezing it. He’s not numb anymore, and he hurts, hurts, hurts. “Please.”

Yuuri falls asleep on his shoulder as Chris drives them home, small and exhausted and vulnerable. Viktor curses the fact that his suit jacket is ruined and bloodied beyond repair, wishing he could wrap it around his Yuuri and keep him safe and warm; all he has right now are his arms. They’ll have to do.

“Will you unzip me?” Yuuri asks once they get home. Viktor doesn’t have the strength he did at the beginning of the evening, so when he unclasps the bloodied pearls and unzips the dress, he can’t stop himself from pressing his lips to the back of Yuuri’s neck, soft and devoted as if he’s whispering a prayer. He needs Yuuri. He needs this.

Yuuri breathes out, slowly, as if he’s finally letting go of tension that’s been thrumming through him all night. Viktor kisses his hair, too, and helps him slide the dress from his shoulders so he can change into something to sleep in. They leave it in a red-and-black pool on the floor. Viktor discards his suit there, too; normally, he wouldn’t, but it’s stained with Yuuri’s blood, and he doesn’t want to touch it any longer.

He has a guest bedroom, but to his relief, Yuuri ignores it, limping to Viktor’s bed and climbing in. Viktor climbs in after him, pulling the covers up over them both, and then Yuuri rolls over and buries his face in his chest. There’s a moment of silence, when it’s just the two of them and the city lights that peep in around the edges of the curtains. Viktor wraps his arms around him, cradles him close, and tries his hardest to just breathe.

“You scared me,” Yuuri eventually whispers. “Earlier.”

“I’m sorry,” Viktor whispers back, pressing his face into his hair. He scared himself, too, and now guilt threatens to eat him alive. “I’d never—he was right. I was bluffing. You know that, right?”

“No—I know, but—it wasn’t that.” Yuuri takes a deep, shaky breath. “It was like—I just couldn’t feel _anything_ from you. It was like one second, you were there, and then you were just, you were almost dead, all of a sudden. I’ve—I’ve never seen you like that before, or. Felt you like that? I’ve never—I’ve never _not _been able to feel you. It scared me.”

“Oh.” Viktor bows his head, closes his eyes against the moonlight and the streetlights, and opens them again as his heart pounds erratically, because imprinted on the inside of his eyelids is Yuuri’s terrified face as the knife pressed into his throat. He tightens his arms around him and thinks, _never again._ “It… it’s a defense mechanism. I have to—I’m Yakov’s best. I have to be perfect. I can’t be—I can’t let myself get in the way.”

Yuuri lets out a soft breath, and one of his hands comes up to stroke Viktor’s hair aside, tenderly, as if he’s something delicate. As if he didn’t just kill a man he once called a friend. “I’m going to ask Yakov to let you have a break. You need… I can’t stand knowing you force yourself to feel like that, just for him.”

“I was scared,” Viktor blurts out, squeezing his eyes shut because if Yuuri keeps looking at him with such tenderness, he’ll break down and weep bitterly until the sun rises. “I couldn’t stomach the idea of losing you, I—I was upset and I was terrified, Yuuri, I had to stop feeling because I was _scared, _and if my hands were shaking I might have missed, and—”

Yuuri kisses him. It’s not the passionate, frenzied kiss from earlier; it’s chaste and gentle and soft and short, and all the sweeter for it. Somehow, Viktor isn’t shocked or surprised or even ecstatic. He just breathes out, relaxes, and feels that finally, _finally, _he’s come home.

“I know,” Yuuri murmurs. “I love you. I know. I know. I’m here. It’s okay. It’s okay, we’re okay.”

Viktor pulls him closer. “I love you, too,” he whispers. “I don’t—I can’t lose you, Yuuri, I can’t.”

“You aren’t going to.” Yuuri’s fingers caress his cheek, slide along his jaw, and stroke the underside of his chin. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to tell Yakov you need some time off, and he won’t win if he tries to argue, and then we’re going to take a vacation. How’s that sound?”

Viktor’s breath catches in his throat. “Too good to be true,” he whispers, bowing his head slightly. “Like a dream. Where—where would you want to go?”

“Let’s go to the beach,” Yuuri suggests, as his hand slides into Viktor’s hair, fingers scrunching against his scalp. “We can build a sand castle together and sit by it and hold hands, and watch the sunset until the tide knocks it down.”

Tears prick at Viktor’s eyes, though he doesn’t know why. He hasn’t had a break in so, so long… “I want that. Can we… can we really have that?”

“Yeah. We’ll do it. Now go to sleep,” Yuuri murmurs, kissing the tip of his nose and offering him a tiny smile. There’s something about his vulnerability in this moment, about the unspoken volumes of trust between them, that makes him more beautiful than Viktor has ever known. “You’re exhausted.”

“You, too,” Viktor whispers back, kissing him again. His lips are soft, still red from the remnants of the lipstick he wore, and there is nothing Viktor wants more than to kiss him both now and every day for the rest of his life. “You did so much magic today. Rest, my Yuuri.”

Yuuri strokes his hair until he closes his eyes. The last thing he’s aware of is a fourth sweet kiss, and a very quiet promise:

“You don’t have to be scared, Vitya. I’ll still be here in the morning.”

(And he is.)

**Author's Note:**

> thankies for reading!! here's jess again pls go love them: [tumblr](https://agenderemryspaperart.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/agenderemrys) !!!!
> 
> find me on [tumblr](https://adreamingsongbird.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/songbirdrimi) !


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